Ode to a Bagel

Oh morning bagel. I miss you. I miss the process of preparing and devouring you. Getting out the toaster, setting it up, and hovering to make sure you tan to just the right shade of brown. Placing you on my pretty Southern Living cinnabar plate. (You deserve the best, you know.) Slathering cream cheese - sometimes strawberry, sometimes plain - on you in pretty wavy configurations. Pairing you with a nice cup of decaf or, if it's been a particularly rough night, popping open a can of the hard stuff...a real coke. Taking a bite of your crusty then soft carbohydrate goodness while watching the morning news. What a wonderfully delicious way to start the day.

But you don't love me back, do you? No, you don't. If you did, you wouldn't go straight to my thighs and, despite your calorie count, leave me hungry mere hours later. You wouldn't spike my blood sugar then sending it crashing down, causing me to feel tired when I have a baby who won't allow such a thing.

Sure, we can meet again occasionally. But the daily dates are over. And while I miss them, the good news is that I've started seeing someone new. Several someones, actually. Risky, huh? Truthfully, my husband doesn't mind. You see, my new crushes happen to be my smaller clothes. I hate to say it, but they are way better looking than you. They aren't round and holey and boringly colored. And they love me back.